


Aligning

by Sulwen



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-03
Updated: 2010-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seriously fluffy fluff kind of disguised as very mild hurt/comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aligning

So Tommy kinda passes out on stage one night. It's so not a big deal, not like _during_ a song or anything. He's making his way off in the dark for the break between the end of the show and the encore, last as usual, and just as he gets to the edge of the stage, he's suddenly really dizzy, and it's the same feeling of vertigo he usually gets at the top of very tall buildings or the crest of the first hill on a roller coaster, and then he's just kind of slowly sinking down and down and down.

There's a bustle of activity above him that he sort of semi-senses, Adam right in his face calling his name, the others gathering around in a worried circle. The crowd is roaring and chanting, and Adam curses and tells Monte to grab the acoustic and that they'll figure out something, and orders the rest of them to find Neil because he's good at dealing with emergencies. And then he can't really make out anything anymore, the world going hazy and blurry and then black.

He wakes up in a hotel bed, flat on his back, sunlight streaming through the windows. Which is weird already, because he always sleeps on his side, curled up in a little ball. The guys on the bus like to make fun of him for it, how tiny he looks, but the girls always tell him that he's cute when he sleeps, so he guesses it evens out. And then, thinking of the bus, he realizes that he really should be _on_ it right now. Today is a day off, but there's another show tomorrow, and it's one of those crazy long drives that makes him think about how big the country is, really, and how many miles they've covered, and _christ,_ what they must be spending on gas, because those buses cannot be very fuel efficient.

He stirs, and in the next moment, Adam's right there, sitting on the side of the bed and grasping for his hand like he's on his deathbed or something. Tommy can see the stress and worry in his face, and it makes him look so different than he usually does. Or maybe that's just the complete lack of any enhancement, no makeup or jewelry or glitter, or even product in his hair. It's the most dressed-down Tommy's ever seen him – even when Adam's going for "casual," he still cakes on the foundation like it's sunscreen or something, not liking to show his bare skin. Which is ridiculous, because Adam is beautiful, with makeup or without, and Tommy doesn't even question how easy that word comes to his mind anymore, not when he's thinking about Adam.

"Hey, there you are. How are you feeling?" Adam asks, brushing Tommy's hair back from his eyes with one hand and keeping hold of his hand with his other.

Tommy smiles at the concern in Adam's voice. He's such a mom sometimes, which yeah, doesn't really make sense, except in the way that it totally does. "A little tired, I guess. But I'm fine...so don't worry about me, ok? And sorry...I didn't mean to mess up the show. What did you guys end up doing for the encore?" he asks, rambling.

"I don't even know...we just kind of improved for a while...I couldn't _think,_ not knowing if you were ok. But no, baby, don't be sorry. It's my fault. We've been pushing too hard, all of us. I should have said no when they wanted to squeeze in those last couple of dates," Adam says, and it's that self-deprecating thing that he does that Tommy _hates,_ and if he didn't feel so bone-deep exhausted he would give Adam no end of crap about it.

Instead, he asks, "Speaking of dates...don't we have a show tomorrow? We should be on the road, right?"

But Adam shakes his head. "No way. The EMTs said you needed to rest. You're taking a couple of shows off, and no, you don't get a choice about it. This place is paid up through the end of the week."

Tommy wants to argue, but Adam has that bossy look in his eyes, one that Tommy recognizes from a thousand different moments of working together, and he knows that there's no point. "What about you, though? I mean, you kind of have to be there..." he says.

"Last-minute flight tomorrow morning," Adam replies, and leaves it at that.

There's silence for a while. Adam is still holding his hand and stroking his forehead gently, and Tommy closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation. It feels like Adam's pulling all the stress out of his body, relaxing all the tense places that come from sleeping in a too-small bed and being in a different city every night and missing the familiarity of home.

He's half-dozing again when Adam tries to pull away, and the movement jerks him back to wakefulness. "Hey," he complains, trying to keep his tone light, "no one told you to stop."

And Adam gives him this complicated smile that isn't a smile really, because it's tied up in all this _regret,_ and maybe something else, too. But he sinks back down onto the bed and puts his hand on Tommy's face again, and that's good. As he brushes his fingers over Tommy's skin, he murmurs quietly. "You just tell me what you need, baby. I'm gonna take care of you. Should've been doing already."

Tommy fidgets under the covers, and there are alarm bells ringing somewhere in his head, way far away, but he's so sleepy he can hardly hear them. "Cold," he says, though he isn't.

Adam nods and says, "I'll get you another blanket."

But Tommy grips his hand tighter. "No, don't want that."

Adam stills. "What...what do you want?" he asks, and his voice is tiny and breathless and he can't quite keep it from shaking.

Tommy flips the covers back with his free hand and pulls Adam toward him with the other. Adam doesn't move for a moment, and Tommy can _see_ him thinking, the way he does, and it's annoying because Adam did _ask_ what he wanted, and why does it have to be more complicated than that?

His displeasure must show on his face – his features have a tendency to give his emotions away on him, and half the time he doesn't even realize he's doing it – and Adam laughs, beaten, and rolls his eyes, and crawls into the bed.

Tommy waits until Adam is settled on his back. Then he rolls over and nudges at Adam's arm with his head until it lifts, leaving a space for Tommy's body to fill. He scoots right up against Adam, his head resting on Adam's shoulder, and Adam's arm comes down around him, holding him tight.

He and Adam have been close on this tour, to kind of a ridiculous extent, but this is the closest they've ever been. It should be exciting and kind of terrifying and all those things that Tommy's imagined it would be, when he's imagined being in bed with Adam – which yeah, he has. More than he'd like to admit. But he's so _sleepy,_ and Adam is big and strong and warm, and they fit together just so perfectly, and instead of the spiking desire he's imagined, it's more like the first sip of coffee on a cold morning, the kind of quiet comfort you can feel all the way down.

When they wake up, it's dark, and Tommy has never slept so good in his life. Adam makes a midnight Taco Bell run, and they lay in bed and eat burritos and watch some stupid movie on HBO, making fun of it and talking about the worst movies they've ever seen, and the best.

They sleep again at dawn, and this time they just fall into bed together, no hesitation at all. For a fleeting moment, Tommy thinks about how much it's going to suck having to go back to sleeping in his tiny bunk, cramped and alone. But then Adam sighs and gives him a squeeze, the picture of contentment, and Tommy lets his thoughts of tomorrow and next week and next year drift away in favor of the perfection of right now.

Adam's phone wakes them, and Tommy glares at it, as if it's the phone's fault. Adam blinks at it and sighs. "Duty calls," he says regretfully, and goes to get up.

Tommy just grips him tighter, pouting, and Adam looks down at him. "No. Stay," Tommy says, and he sounds like a petulant child and doesn't care.

"You know I can't, baby," Adam says, and Tommy can see in his eyes how much he wishes it were otherwise.

Adam eases his way out from Tommy's arms, standing and stretching and gathering up his overnight bag, slinging its strap over one shoulder. He turns back to Tommy, leaning down close over him and placing an open palm on Tommy's cheek. "Rest up. I want you back with us by Monday," he says, and drops a quick kiss to Tommy's forehead.

And then he's gone, striding out of the room on long legs, and Tommy can still feel the shape of Adam's lips on his skin. He settles back into the pillows, the bed feeling too big without Adam in it. Thoughts about life and Adam and how exactly you decide what to call a relationship, anyway, spiral through his head, chasing each other around in circles, but it's not urgent, not the panicky rush of emotions he thinks he maybe should be feeling right now. Instead, it all feels slow and sleepy and inevitable, and really just _good._

He dreams of love and destiny and the slow, perfect dance of the stars in the sky.


End file.
